


Mad

by karcathy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 14:06:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karcathy/pseuds/karcathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You name is Dave Strider, and sometimes your roommate just makes you so angry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mad

 

John Egbert, you decide, viciously kicking a pile of his dirty laundry, is the worst roommate ever. You curse his name, his ancestors and his stupid face, as you try to find him and tell him that the bills he told you he’d paid were not, in fact, paid. You’ve begun composing a suitably scathing speech in your head. It contains a lot of swear words. In fact, you might go so far as to say more of the words are expletives than are not.

“Dave, are you home?” you hear John calling, then the sound of the door closing, “I’m making tea, do you want some?”

You grit your teeth and go through into the kitchen.

“John,” you say, holding out a piece of paper, “What does this look like?”

“Uh,” he says, scanning it, “A letter from the gas company?”

“And this?”

You hand him another.

“One from the electricity company?”

“And this one is from?”

“The phone company?”

“Right. And what do they all have in common?”

You keep your voice carefully level, even though, inside, you feel like screaming at him.

“Um. They all say we haven’t paid our bill?”

“And what did you tell me two weeks ago?”

“That I would pay the gas, electricity and phone bills?”

“Exactly,” you say, letting a dangerous note enter your voice, “Which, correct me if I’m wrong, you didn’t do.”

He nods silently.

“Meaning we now have to pay a fine.”

“I,” he says, slightly nervously.

“Which- What?” you ask, certain you misheard him.

“I’ll pay it,” he says, “And the bills. It’s my fault, after all.”

“Oh. Well, uh-”

“Don’t argue,” he says, waving a hand at you and turning back to the tea, “It’s fine. I’m sorry I forgot. I’ll handle the fine. You don’t have to worry about it.”

You stand in shocked silence for a moment, feeling wrong-footed. You try to hold onto your anger, but it feels slightly misplaced now.

 

John is on best behaviour for the next week, and you’re starting to think he’s not such a bad roommate after all. That is, until you come home at 2am after a late shift at work, collapse onto the sofa, and immediately leap up again, your ass covered in pizza.

“John. Fucking. EGBERT.”

Your yelling wakes him up, and he stumbles into the living room, then cringes when he sees the pizza.

“You’re a fucking moron,” you say, stalking past him to the bathroom, picking bits of pizza off of your pants and flinging them vehemently at the floor, “Clean it up, asshat.”

In the bathroom, you pull off your pants and rinse the last of the pizza off of them, then wash your hands. Sighing heavily, you chuck them into the laundry hamper and go to your bedroom. Not even bothering to change into your pajamas, you throw yourself into bed, curl up under the covers and bite your pillow to stop yourself from screaming. Why does John have to be so fucking frustrating?

 

The day after the pizza incident, you try to avoid John completely. You wake up late, shower, grab a slice of toast for breakfast, and head for the local Starbucks, where you’re meeting your sister for coffee. You’re fuming slightly as you order a hazelnut latte, collect it and join your sister at a corner table.

“What happened?” Rose asks, glancing up from her book, looking back, slipping a bookmark between the pages, and delicately closing it.

“What d’you mean, what happened?” you ask, grumpily putting your latte down and spilling some over the edge of the cup.

“I mean, you’re obviously in a state of some distress. Annoyance, perhaps.”

You roll your eyes.

“Fucking Egbert’s just pissing me off, that’s all,” you grumble, toying with your spoon, “Know what he did?”

“I’m all ears,” she says, picking up her teacup and sipping thoughtfully.

“Left his fucking pizza on the couch. I mean, who _does_ that? Why the fuck would the pizza be on the fucking couch? Fucking Egbert.”

“You’re angry because you sat in some pizza?”

You just snort, taking a sip of your latte. She watches you over the rim of her cup, her expression calculating.

“Somehow, I don’t think the pizza is the issue here,” she says, in full psychologist mode.

You glare at your coffee. You imagine drowning John in it. You add Rose, too. Fucking lousy friend, fucking stupid sister.

“You might want to start thinking about why you’re _really_ angry at John,” she says, putting down her empty cup and standing up, “Or even if that’s actually how you feel.”

She walks out, leaving you confused and irritated. You finish your latte in disgruntled silence, then return home.

 

Back in your apartment, you collapse on the couch and stare at the ceiling, Rose’s words dancing through your mind. What did she mean, why you’re really angry? And what was that rubbish about how you feel? Of course you’re angry at John – he made you sit in pizza, he forgot to pay the bills, and he’s generally kind of useless. _And_ , a quiet voice at the back of your mind adds, _you’d rather be more than just friends._ You groan, trying to ignore it, but you can’t. Truth is, it’s pretty much right. And by the sound of it, Rose realises this too. You’re nursing a gigantic crush on your best friend and roommate, you’re angry you can’t tell him because you’re scared it’ll ruin your friendship, and you’re taking your anger out on him. Quite honestly, he’s a great roommate. You almost wish he wasn’t so great, so then you’d have a real reason to be angry at him.

 

You hear the door open, breaking into your thoughts, and groan. Brilliant.

“Uh, Dave?” John asks, peering into the living room, “Are you... okay?”

You make a noise like a dying whale and roll over, burying your face in the couch cushions.

“Um,” he says, sitting on the couch and placing a cautious hand on your shoulder, “Are you still mad?”

“A little,” you say, your voice muffled by the cushion.

“Right. Uh. Rose said you might not really be angry... Um. She also said...”

“Oh, god,” you say, twisting around to look up at him, a slightly horrified expression on your face, under your now-wonky shades, “She can’t stop herself meddling, can she?”

“Well, she, uh...”

He’s blushing furiously, and his awkwardness just makes you angry again. Growling under your breath, you leap up, twist around, and push him against the sofa, your hands pinning his shoulders.

“Okay, stop stammering,” you say, lifting his chin and forcing him to look at you, “And could you try to stop blushing?”

He just blushes more. You think it looks stupidly adorable. Everything about him is stupidly adorable.

“I’m not mad,” you whisper, your face practically touching his.

“Oh.”

He looks stupidly, adorably confused, so you kiss him. He kisses you back for a moment, then pulls away, looking even more confused.

“What?” you ask, resting your forehead against his.

“Nothing,” he replies.

He hesitates for a moment, then continues.

“Well, I just... I don’t get why you were angry.”

You sigh.

“Would ‘because I’m an idiot’ be a good enough explanation?”

He seems to think about it.

“I guess,” he says, shrugging.

You laugh, and kiss him again.

“So you’re not still mad about the pizza?” he asks, pulling away again and sounding slightly anxious.

“I’m a little mad about the pizza,” you say, and he frowns, “But I’m prepared to forgive you.”

He smiles as you kiss him again. You think you’re a lot less than a little mad. You might not even be mad at all.


End file.
